


Walk On Tiptoes Every Day

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Happy Ending, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:31:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan tries to leave but finds that home is, after all, where the heart is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk On Tiptoes Every Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written January 2007 for Oxoniensis's porn battle, prompt: Casey/Dan, 'souvenir'. For the record, I cannot for the life of me remember where I got the title from, or why I thought it fitted the fic.

It took a month for the first postcard to arrive. When it did, it said, simply, 'I'm sorry'.

There was no return address, so Casey couldn't write back to say, 'I bet you are', or 'You should be'. Or, as the weeks dragged on and his mailbox remained empty, 'Forgive me', and 'Please come home'.

Danny had always been master of the grand gesture. But he'd been the master of words, too. Surely, Casey reasoned – surely they couldn't have gone so far that words couldn't save them?

The second postcard was a picture of the beach at Malibu. 'I miss you', it said.

It wasn't much, but it was a clue. Casey was on the next plane to California. A futile effort, a fool's venture. Of course it was. But, Casey reasoned, he was a fool, so it was only appropriate. A fool to have pushed Dan away. A fool to have let him go.

Losing him was no more than he deserved.

So when, drained and heartsick and exhausted after the long, wasted journey, he turned his key in the lock and stepped into his apartment, the last thing he expected was to see Dan, slouched on his sofa, looking up tiredly to meet his eyes.

Casey had never been a violent man. Words were his weapon of choice. But Dan had always been the one to test him to his limits, and, right at that moment, Casey didn't know whether to punch him, or shake him till his teeth rattled, or hug him. He settled on 'none of the above', closed the door behind him and set his travelling bag down on the floor.

"You look like hell," he said roughly. Dan was unshaven, looked as though he'd been sleeping in a ditch for a month. His hair needed cutting, and his clothes were crumpled and dirty, his eyes red-rimmed. But he managed a decent pretence of a smile.

"Good to see you, too," he said. "And have you seen yourself?"

Casey turned his head, caught sight of his own strained, haggard face. He crossed to the sofa; hesitated. He didn't want to encroach on Dan's personal space; not until he was sure he was welcome. That he was forgiven.

Dan sighed. "Oh, for fucksake," he said, wearily, and patted the cushion beside him. "I'm not going to jump you, Casey, you're safe with me. I'm a fast learner," he added, and now he just sounded sad. "I think I've pretty much fucked you out of my system." He winced. "In fact, I think I've pretty much fucked _men_ out of my system."

"You okay?" Casey asked, instantly concerned. Now he was sitting beside Dan, he could see the traces of fading bruises on his cheek, around his left eye. _Oh, Danny. How bad has it been?_

Dan waved him away. "Fine." He touched a hand to his jaw. "These are just souvenirs. Or object lessons. Whatever you want to call them." He looked back up, grave-faced. "I'm sorry, Casey. I … I should've known better. I'd always thought there was something – there could be something more between us. I was wrong. I thought I'd fucked everything up, and I ran away. Now I'm back to say I'm sorry, and to ask you to forgive me. I know – " He closed his eyes, and swallowed hard. "Things can't be the same. I can't undo what I did. I just hope … hope we can still be friends?"

The last word was so faint Casey barely caught it, and the uncertain, questioning note in Dan's voice clawed at his gut. Almost without thinking, he reached over, took Dan's hand.

"We never weren't," he said, finding, to his surprise, that he meant it. "And it wasn't you that fucked up, Danny. It was me. I … all these years, ever since I met you, you've been my safety valve. You were my acid test to prove I wasn't gay."

Dan's head shot up at that, and he stared at Casey, bewildered. Casey shook his own head – he'd never really been able to explain this even to his own satisfaction, how could he expect Dan to follow his tortuous logic? He wrapped his other hand around Dan's, held it against his heart.

"I loved you," he said. It was easy, somehow, to say it now, with Danny by his side, shattered and broken, easier than it had ever been before. "_Do_ love you. From the first moment I saw you. I wanted you. I'd never even thought about men before, not like that. And when I looked around, I still didn't – not really, not so much. It was just you. So I could tell myself it was okay. It was you, it was something about you, something you did. Not me at all. I could carry on being married, being normal, and if I felt more for you than maybe I should have … it didn't mean anything."

"And then I tried to kiss you," Dan said, dully. "And – "

"And I found it meant _everything_," Casey said quickly, fiercely. "And I freaked out. I panicked, and I damn near lost you." He tightened his grasp. "I won't make that mistake again."

Dan's mouth crooked in a faint smile. Casey could tell he didn't believe him. _How can I prove it to you?_ he thought.

He couldn't. But he could make a start; make amends. He leaned forward, lifting a hand to cup Dan's face, tilted up his chin, and let their lips touch. Just for a moment, he'd thought, nothing more; they were both exhausted, and Dan … Danny was a wreck. But he found, touching Dan, tasting him, smelling the sweat and dust of his skin, feeling the warmth, the solid, absolute surety of Dan's body against his own – he found that one kiss wasn't enough. Was never enough.

A thousand would never be enough.

***


End file.
